


Warmth

by RussianWitch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Domestic, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, Relationship(s), Snippets, very little smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 12:26:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9607601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: It can come in different forms.Harold and John keeping each other out of the cold.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Not betaed

John has always run hot.

Barracks had always been a pain, keeping underwear on often stifling keeping him awake in the middle of the night when he wasn't run ragged.

Harold, Harold is the opposing.

If John had ever bothered to think about Harold's sleepwear, he would have expected pajamas, most likely pinstriped and carefully buttoned, possibly silk. He would never have guessed sweats and socks, even if they are somewhat explainable. The bed becomes a lesson in compromising between their desire to keep the other close and not be too cold/hot.

He's also found himself enjoying having to work to get at Harold's naked skin even in bed, while Harold has him naked and ready at any time. He likes wrapping himself around the smaller man to give him additional warmth, warmth he can easily give, loves diving under the covers to burrow down along Harold's body, wrestle Harold's sweats down enough to get his mouth on Harold's dick.

Under the covers it's a whole other universe of its own: everything is Harold, scent, feel, sound, John doesn't even need sight. He can stay there forever pinning Harold down and sucking his dick slowly until Harold loses control and spills in John's mouth.

It doesn't matter that it's hard to breathe under the covers, doesn't matter that John's dick gets neglected. When John finally crawls from under the covers, it is to the sight of Harold, red-faced and pleasure dazed, reaching for him, breathing air into John's lungs and licking the taste of himself from John's mouth. John can throw a leg over Harold, wiggle close rucking Harold's sweatshirt up and rub himself to completion against the scratchy fur of Harold's warm belly.

+

"You forgot your scarf again." Harold scolds.

"Says the man who's eating an ice-cream in the middle of January," John points out, raising the collar of his coat anyway.

"That's—entirely different!" Harold is wrapped up tight, nose and glasses barely visible between the layers and hat. The tops of his cheeks are splotchy red from the cold, "I won't catch a cold eating a single cone." Harold's tongue darts out scooping up some of the vanilla cream, John watches his eyes fall shut in hedonistic enjoyment.

"I'll be fine, Harold," John assures him, thoughts of licking half-melted vanilla ice-cream off of Harold's skin keeping him pleasantly warm. Harold's eyes narrow in suspicion, John just keeps on smiling faking innocence until Harold sits back returning his attention to his ice-cream with a huff.

"Really, Mr. Reese? Now is _not_  the time," he mutters, but John can hear the amusement and curiosity.

"I just want to keep you warm," John shuffles closer, pulling the mount of scarf down so he can brush his lips across a sharp cheekbone.

Harold offers him the cone, staring off across the river. John takes a small bite, more cone than vanilla and savors the taste.

"Thank you, Harold," he purrs, watching the first snowflakes of the afternoon dance in the wind.

+

John hates to admit it, but he isn't exactly getting any younger.

Nights spend watching and waiting take more of a toll on him these days, and sitting motionlessly in a cold car—He doesn't get cold often, but staggering back after a fruitless stakeout John feels like he's moving through water his limbs heavy with the cold that has settled in his bones.

The loft is bathed in warm yellow sunlight that he would normally enjoy if he didn't have to struggle out of his coat. His earpiece is silent so Harold is probably still asleep, or busy with things that don't concern John. He leaves a trail of clothes from the front door to the bed, diving between the sheets without bothering to shower. The heavy blankets are some help, but the cold isn't only physical, it's seeped into John's mind as well and that blankets can't cure.

He isn't sure how long he lies there, eyes closed to block out the happy sunshine before he hears the door. Nails clicking on the hardwood floors pull him back into the world, Harold's familiar shuffle coming right behind. John should get up, rapport and help plan their next move—

"Just this once, mind!" Harold says out of the blue, and John is almost curious enough to roll over and ask when he feels Bear jump onto the bed, a wet nose against the back of his neck and an ear full of drool, "I'm almost positive I'm going to regret this sooner than later."

The bed dips again, and this time there is a cold draft against John's back before it is replaced with the warmth of Harold wiggling closer until he's flush against John's back. Bear happily tramples the both of them before settling with his head on John's legs, and he has to wonder if he isn't still dreaming or something. Harold has better things to do than—cuddle.

And yet here he is, his arm thrown around John's waist, nose tracing the top of John's shoulder blade as he shares body heat he can barely miss.

"Harold?" John finally can't help asking.

"Yes?" Harold answers, breath damp against his spine.

"What are you doing?"

He feels the mildly annoyed huff against his back, and the bitten off, "that seems rather obvious," has him actually smiling.

"There is nothing particular that needs to be done today, that I wouldn't be able to do from here," Harold continues, "in a few hours or so, now since I've had a rather—eh—restless night, I would appreciate it if you let me sleep." The arm around John tightens as if Harold expects him to argue, but John is finally warming up so he holds his tongue.

+

The collar of the tux is just too tight, no matter what Harold says about it being just right. The velvet curtains make John fight to keep from sneezing. The music—he doesn't object to classical music, far from it but sitting through hours of people singing at each other in a language he can't follow, he doesn't see the attraction.

He watched Harold instead of the stage, Harold who seems captivated by the events on stage as if he's seeing them for the first time. John is pretty sure this isn't the case: Harold just really likes opera. Likes it enough that even puppy eyes and a blowjob hadn't dissuaded him from inflicting it on John.

It's too dark to read the program, which will probably explain that the story is about some couple or another who is going to die tragically and dramatically singing about it for half an hour and tempting John to help them along...

In the darkness, Harold's hand finds John's, warm and strong, tangling their fingers together.

They don't hold hands, neither of them is the type.

John turns his hand, grips right back relaxing into the contact.

He's been through far worse things than opera, and Harold did promise to take him to a very good restaurant he knows after.

+

The plane lands flawlessly on the rough looking tarmac.

No one comes out to greet it, and John has to help secure it after getting the bags out.

The sun is shining bright and John can hear the ocean close by.

He follows Harold down a sandy path down from the bare plateau that holds the landing strip into the trees, and to another clearing where a low house stands under the cover of the mountain.

"Never took you for the type to have a tropical island getaway, Harold," John teases taking the whole thing in.

"What kind of billionaire would I be without one?" Harold huffs, sticking his nose into the air.

"One who isn't planning to play James Bond-villain?" The mountain could pass for a volcano if one squints, and the whole 'only reachable by plane' thing to go along with it, all Harold misses is a cat, "we should have brought Bear," he sighs, Bear would have probably liked the beach, if not the heat.

"I'm sure Miss Shaw is taking great care of him, she even offered to let him Skype with us once a day if necessary," John can already imagine how those are going to go. Not that he'd like it if they couldn't check in with the home front, but he would have preferred Bear with them nonetheless.

The house has been aired recently and supplies have been left along with a note from the caretakers. John drops their bags in the middle of the living room despite Harold's silent objection and makes the rounds.

By the time he is back, Harold has lost his jacket and vest and is pouring the both of them cool glasses of water. With his collar unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up, Harold looks almost naked.

John isn't really one for vacations, but something tells him he's really going to like this one. 


End file.
